


A Clint is Not for Christmas

by sc010f



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint Has Issues, M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2762231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sc010f/pseuds/sc010f
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Clint hates Christmas. All he wants is for the day to be over. His friends listen and treat him to what he actually wants - a relaxing day as a team, without being overly Christmassy (They can have their Christmas another day). </p><p>Or: Tony gets carried away, nobody realizes what the problem actually is, but Clint gets his Christmas wish eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Clint is Not for Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Brief mention of Clint's terrible childhood.

It was not a surprise to anyone, least of all me, that Sir started it.

“Where’s Barton?” he demanded around a mouthful of popcorn. “He’s supposed to be here for this. JARVIS! Where’s Legolas?”

“Agent Barton is not currently in the Tower,” I replied.

“Aw, shit. Why?” Sir asked, visibly deflated.

“I could not say, Sir,” I answered. “It would appear, however, that Agent Barton has not been in the Tower for several days following the ending of his relationship with Agent Morse.”

I have, over the years, been able to adapt tact and discretion subroutines into my matrix, of course, but due to the rather explosive nature of the end of Agents Barton and Morse’s romance, I felt it best to make a clean breast of things to Sir. Despite what many (Director Coulson, for example) might believe, I have very few secrets from Sir and I never lie to him. 

Of course it is possible for an Artificial Intelligence to lie. Misdirection was one of the first things Sir programmed into me. An Intelligence such as myself has no particular value for the human concept of truth as an Intelligence such as myself has no motivation, merely function. 

“So he and Bobbi are quits, then?” Sir asked again. 

“Indeed, Sir.”

“Well, that just sucks. Is he coming to the caroling?”

“I highly doubt it, Sir.”

“The chestnut roast?”

“No, sir.”

“The _tree lighting_?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, then what _is_ he coming to?” Sir whined. 

“Tony, he’s not coming to anything,” Agent Romanov said from the doorway. Wrapped in a ridiculous crimson sweater, she neatly stole Sir’s popcorn and needle and began threading it onto the chain, alternating popcorn and cranberries in a precise, and if I dare say, pleasing pattern. “He’s sulking in Brooklyn.”

“Ugh. Love stinks,” Sir declared. 

“What is the problem with our Clint?” Lord Thor asked, settling Mjolinr carefully onto an end table. “Is his still saddened by the end of his romance with Agent Morse?”

“Yep,” Agent Romanov said. 

“Ah, he shall be missed at the midwinter festivities, then,” Thor declared. “This is no time for a brother to be alone: the darkest hours of the winter are times for companionship.”

“We should leave him alone,” Captain Rogers argued, and Doctor Banner, seated next to him, cradling a mug of my finest hot chocolate agreed.

I can usually rely Captain Rogers and Doctor Banner to be the voices of reason within this group; suffice it to say I am very pleased with Doctor Banner’s calming influence on Sir, especially. Becoming an outsized green monster, motivated by rage can, I have noted with certain interest, provide a man with an unusual perspective and motivation.

“But he’ll miss all the fun!” Sir protested, and Agent Romanov fetched him a clip round the ear. 

“Shut up, Tony. Clint will come out of the woodwork when he’s ready,” she replied, going back to her threading.

“It’s just not right,” Sir pouted. 

“What isn’t right?” asked Director Coulson from the elevator doors.

Perhaps I might have neglected to mention to Sir that Director Coulson was on his way up to the common room. How remiss of me. I will, of course, set to debugging that notification subroutine immediately. 

“Barton’s ditching us!” Sir exclaimed. “He’s sulking or lurking in his hidey hole in Brooklyn. It’s not fair. JARVIS slaved over the tree this year.”

“Sir is exaggerating,” I said. Modesty is part of my subroutines. 

“You did!” Sir is nothing if not willing (at least in my case) to give credit where credit was due, even if he is prone to exaggeration. 

“Leave him alone,” Director Coulson said. “If Barton is sulking, trying to get him out of the sulk for anything other than an emergency will only be counter productive.”

“Thank you,” Agent Romanov said, pulling out a knife and beginning to play with it. If I felt apprehension (which of course I do not), I would have spared a moment for the safety of the upholstery. Agent Romanov is prone to stabbing the furniture if thwarted or bored.

“Well, at least dig him out for the Secret Santa,” Sir appealed to Director Coulson. “He can’t miss that.”

Director Coulson and Agent Romanov shared a look. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Director Coulson said somewhat resignedly. Sir can be _very_ persuasive. It’s one of his more useful traits (when applied correctly, of course).

* * *

Whatever Director Coulson said to Agent Barton, both gentlemen were present for the Avengers Secret Santa gift exchange later that month. According to my records, it was the first time Agent Barton had entered the premises since the end of his relationship with Agent Morse. 

The Agent looked, not to put too fine a point on it, unwell. Having monitored all of the Avengers during the heat of battle earlier in the week, I had been able to conduct preliminary observations Agent Barton’s demeanor following the end of his affair with Agent Morse, and he had appeared to be in the best of health. To observe him during a recreational gathering not “on his game” as Sir would put it was distressing (or would have been if I was capable or desirous of emotion to the extent that it would sway my judgement). Nonetheless, Agent Barton appeared to be short on sleep and tense. He placed himself as close to the exit as he was able and refused to speak voluntarily to anyone. When he was addressed, he was short to the point of rudeness. While Agent Barton is a generally taciturn man, I calculated his responses to be especially curt.

Sir, as is his custom, made it a game to annoy Agent Barton as much as was possible by way of attempting to draw him out and engage with the group. A person more possessed of more calm than Agent Barton would have, I believe, been able to recognize Sir’s behavior as a substitute for showing his concern for a friend and fellow Avenger, but Sir has never been adept at expressing himself in a mature and sensible manner. Ms Potts would aver that this is part of his charm, and while I am inclined to agree with her on that score, it was obvious that on this occasion Agent Barton was having none of it.

The tipping point came when the exchange of gifts took place: Sir had, as usual, outdone himself with regards to the lavishness of the gifts and most of the Avengers had followed suit, except for Agent Barton. Having drawn Sir, Agent Barton had, as far as I was able to observe, stopped at a Duane Reade on the way to the Tower and purchased the following items: a bag of Blue Ranch-flavored Doritos, a plastic tube in the shape of a candy cane stuffed with red and green M&Ms, and a pair of orthopedic tube socks. These were wrapped in the plastic Duane Reade bag and bound with a bedraggled scrap of ribbon, which appeared to have been pilfered from one of the wreaths that I had arranged to be hung by the entrances to the elevators in the Tower. 

Sir’s reaction to this gift was immediate and without thought.

“The fuck, dude?”

Agent Barton shrugged and continued to play with the arrows he had brought with him - personal idiosyncrasy similar to Agent Romanov's constant sharpening of her knives at the coffee table. His twirling of the arrow, though, demonstrated tension in a way that Agent Romanov's knife-sharpening did not usually. 

“I’m sure this passed for extravagant in the circus,” Sir continued. “But I put a lot of work…”

“Tony, shut up,” Doctor Banner muttered, and Agent Barton’s glare became icy. 

“No, Bruce, this is ridiculous,” Sir declared. “JARVIS and I put a lot of work into these events, and Barton here can’t be bothered to show up to a single one of them unless Agent drags him in and he’s been promised a present.”

“Whatever, Stark,” grumbled Agent Barton. “I didn’t want to come to your stupid party, anyway.”

“Clint,” Director Coulson said. Agent Romanov rose and moved to Agent Barton’s side, leaving the exit clear. Lord Thor and Captain Rogers both frowned, both on the alert for trouble. Doctor Banner and Ms Potts both put a steadying hand on Sir’s shoulders. I made sure the elevator was at the ready.

“Look, asswipe,” Sir said, springing up. “I didn’t want you here in the first place.”

Barton leapt off the back of the sofa and squared off to Sir. I felt it was time to act.

“If you will pardon me for speaking out of turn,” I said. “You did, Sir, address the fact that you mourned Agent Barton’s presence at several of your previous holiday-themed festivities.”

“Nobody asked you, JARVIS,” Sir warned me. However, my ploy had succeeded in drawing Sir’s ire away from Agent Barton, who was looking more and more murderous by the second.

Agent Romanov and Director Coulson spared thankful glances to my cameras as Sir lurched away from Agent Barton and Director Coulson took the opportunity to steer Agent Barton away from the center of the room. 

On the other side of the room, Sir had flounced to the bar to pour himself another drink. Ms Potts and Doctor Banner looked distressed, and Captain Rogers made a noise as if to object, but refrained from actually saying anything. Lord Thor simply looked sad.

Director Coulson accompanied Agent Barton to the elevators to take their leave and not long after that, the party broke up. Captain Rogers made an attempt at tidying up the discarded gift wrapping and arranging the unopened presents beneath the tree, but soon gave up with a defeated sigh. 

Agent Barton’s Doritos, candy, socks, plastic bag, and ribbon remained in a heap on the coffee table.

* * *

Agent Barton and Director Coulson did not descend to the parking garage as I had predicted they would. Instead, they rode down to the floor containing Agent Barton’s suite. It is of great distress to Sir, although naturally he would not admit it, that Agent Barton prefers to live in Brooklyn where I am given to understand he has a complicated relationship with the gentlemen who own his building. 

Neither Agent nor Director spoke in the elevator, and it was only once they were in Agent Barton’s suite of rooms and the door had been secured and Agent Barton had checked the area carefully (not necessary, of course, but I can appreciate that old habits die hard) that Director Coulson spoke. 

“Care to explain?” Director Coulson asked quietly. 

Agent Barton looked mulish and leaned in silence against the kitchen counter. 

Director Coulson ignored his lack of response and moved to stand by him, mimicking Agent Barton’s posture, if not his exact expression. 

It has always been an ability of mine to translate the subtle changes and shifts in body language among humans (and Asgardians) into meaningful language, and although Agents Romanov and Barton and Director Coulson are adept concealing their emotions, as the saying goes, I can read them like a book. I have known for a while now that Director Coulson harbors feelings for Agent Barton beyond what is considered by S.H.I.E.L.D. to be routine for a member of administration to feel for an agent. I also am aware that “routine” and “S.H.I.E.L.D” are not typically words that belong together. There are, interestingly enough, very stringent guidelines regarding sexual misconduct and fraternization, mostly enforced in the past from a startling campaign instigated by ex-Director Fury involving images of him in lacy pink underthings accompanied by scathingly profane messages regarding what would happen to members of the Division if proper behavioral guidelines were not strictly followed. 

Director Coulson, although in the past priding himself on his reserved demeanor, has since his remarkable (if I dare say) resurrection been much more open about his body language. Agent Barton, however, has not. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Director Coulson finally asked. 

“No,” replied Agent Barton. Then, “Tony is an asshole.”

This is not an opinion of Sir with which I disagree. 

“He does have it down to a science,” Director Coulson agreed. 

“An art, really.”

“The subtle science and exact art of asshole,” Director Coulson said. 

“You’re finally reading _Harry Potter_?” Agent Barton asked. 

“I’m flying coach, now,” Director Coulson replied. “I can’t read classified files in coach.”

“Huh.” Agent Barton resumed his examination of the kitchen floor.

“He didn’t know, I guess?” Director Coulson asked after a three and a half minutes of silent contemplation of the spotless kitchen floor. It is my understanding that Agent Barton’s kitchen in Brooklyn is not as sanitary.

“What, about Christmas?” Agent Barton countered. “No, he didn’t. Or maybe Natasha told him, but he ignored it. I don’t know. Maybe he felt _sorry_ for me. Wanted to include me in this fake family he’s made for himself. Whatever, it’s stupid.”

“Christmas usually is,” Director Coulson agreed. 

“Do we have to talk about it? I mean, since we’re picking at scars, you wanna talk about how Bobbi tried to get me to call you before she took off to you guys?”

“Clint…”

“Whatever. At least you and Bobbi knew enough to give up on me. Tony doesn’t know when to shut the hell up.”

“Clint, what?” Director Coulson jerked around, his hand raised as if to touch Agent Barton. “You think I _gave up_ on you?”

“Fuck, no, I just… Look, Coulson, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I know you didn’t _give up_. I’m an adult, okay? I get it. I know I got issues, so we don’t got- we don’t have to talk about anything. It was stupid and you don’t have to stay.”

Director Coulson, through Agent Barton’s impassioned speech, remained as still as I’ve ever observed him to be. 

“No,” Director Coulson said. “No you don’t understand. I want - Clint, there are things I _need_ to say, and if it’s okay with you, I _want_ to stay.”

Agent Barton did not respond verbally. However, his heart rate spiked and I observed his breathing rate quicken. Based on those two observations alone, I was able to hypothesize that Agent Barton was not unaffected by Director Coulson’s plea. 

“You see things, Clint,” Director Coulson continued. “You see things, and I know you _observe_ I’ve always suspected you knew how I felt, and how much I wanted you to… well, if it wasn’t going to be me, then how much I wanted you to be happy. When the Avengers were kept in the dark about… well, me, I was willing to trust that the system was going to take care of you. You had Tasha and Bobbi, and a team. You didn’t _need_ me keeping you back.”

“You’re so full of shit, Coulson. The system is fucked. Any kid raised in the _system_ is gonna know that,” Agent Barton said.

“Oh, god. Clint…”

“Yeah, I know all about Christmas in the _system_ , Coulson. You wanna talk about that? You wanna talk about the time I got a half empty bag of Funyuns from Barney for Christmas? And that was the only thing I got? About how we used to gather around a tree to watch dad drink until he knocked over the tree? 

“Yeah, I just fucking _love_ being in the system when the best you can hope for is a pair of hand me down jeans and a candy cane you gotta share with your asshole brother. But, yeah, trust the _system_ , Phil. ‘Cause that’s all I deserve.”

“Clint, god, no. Clint, you deserve so much more,” Director Coulson’s voice broke.

“I just wanted you back, Phil. I wanted… so much...”

“Aren’t we a pair?” Director Coulson asked. He huffed a laugh, and had it been anyone but Director Coulson, I would have suspected that he was on the verge of tears. Finally, he lowered his hand to Agent Barton’s shoulder, thumb reaching up to caress the exposed skin of Agent Barton’s neck.

Agent Barton’s eyes slid shut. 

“Shit. I don’t want… I don’t know what I want. Phil?”

“Yeah. Still me. Or maybe not me. I don’t know,” Director Coulson said. His hand moved from shoulder to cheek. Agent Barton pressed his face into it, eyes still closed. He pressed his lips to Director Coulson’s palm. 

“Nah,” Agent Barton said, pressing his cheek back into Director Coulson’s hand. “Still you. Still a dick.”

“Well, I’m glad that _some_ things haven’t changed,” Director Coulson replied, and again, I observed the onset of tears. I will have to run diagnostics on those observational subroutines. 

“Phil, I don’t wanna talk about this,” Agent Barton said, taking a step forward, effectively placing himself in Director Coulson’s embrace. “I don’t wanna talk about anything.”

In accordance with Agent Barton’s wishes, neither man spoke for fifteen minutes and forty-seven seconds, instead choosing (quite rightly in my view) to kiss one another: first tenderly, as if still unsure of each other’s welcome, and then with passion and, I do not exaggerate, heat. 

I have observed the human condition from the outside (and the inside in some cases) for many years. I have observed Sir’s sexual exploits over and over again. In total, I have observed three thousand three hundred incidents of sexual congress in the Tower since I was installed and came fully online. I cannot pretend to understand fully the emotional benefits that humans (and occasionally Asgardians) enjoy from the various forms of copulation I have observed and once, memorably, taken part in, but I have been programmed to understand the act in all its forms to provide emotional succor in specific circumstances and with specific parameters in mind. 

This is not to say that all acts of human (and occasional Asgardian) sexual congress are mutually physically or emotionally satisfying, nor that all incidents I have observed over the years have provided emotional succor. However, the sexual intercourse in which Agent Barton and Director Coulson engaged, first in the kitchen and then in the bedroom of Agent Barton’s suite of rooms, with a detour to the couch where Agent Barton sucked Director Coulson’s penis to the Director’s great satisfaction, although not to climax, was, in many ways, a quintessential example of the most satisfying acts of human sexuality which I have had the opportunity to observe. 

It was also proved that Director Coulson is, as Sir has speculated, a “pushy bottom”.

* * *

Having assured myself that the temperature of the room was appropriate, I sent a discreet message to Ms Potts and Agent Romanov of the developments. Following that, Sir communicated with me a desire to “make it up to Katniss and Agent”, and with a few helpful suggestions from Ms Potts and Agent Romanov, we were able to concoct what I considered to be an appropriate plan of reconciliation. 

Seventeen minutes after Director Coulson and Agent Barton fell asleep in a tangle of bedsheets and blankets, I opened the door to Agent Barton’s suite, ushering in the Avengers and various companions, including Sergeant Barnes, Major Wilson, and Ms Hill. Ms Potts and Agent Romanov hushed everyone as Sir and Captain Rogers worked with me to begin a string of movies: Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes are working their way through the late-twentieth-century Academy Award Nominees and Winners. Meanwhile Ms Hill and Lord Thor and Doctor Banner saw to it that sufficient snack foods were delivered to the suite to feed the hungry group. 

Twelve minutes after the group had settled: popcorn in hand, ensconced in the comfortable chairs and sofas that Sir has outfitted in all the suites, Agent Barton, still nude and armed with a bow, burst through the door between his bedroom and living room.

“What the fuck!” he shouted. “Why are you here? Why are you watching movies in my living room?”

“Tony has something to say,” Ms Potts said by way of explanation. “And we thought this would be an appropriate way to apologize.”

“Apologize?” Agent Barton demanded.

“Yeah. Look, I was an asshole,” Sir said. “I shouldn’t have made you celebrate Christmas like that. Especially not after everything else got so fucked up with you and Bobbi, only now… why are you naked? Is that _Phil_?”

“Director Coulson to you, Stark,” Director Coulson said, appearing smoothly behind Agent Barton. 

“Oh, my god, I’m going blind,” declared Sir melodramatically. This earned him a kick in the shins from Agent Romanov and an elbow to the ribs from Ms Potts. “Ow! Fuck! Okay, sorry, sorry…”

“Anyway,” Ms Potts said. “Tony had a _real_ apology to make.”

“Yeah, but not before he puts some clothes on,” Sergeant Barnes said, shocking the room to silence. 

“ _Bucky_?” Captain Rogers asked. 

“Yeah, what? Clint’s naked, I can _see_ that, Steve,” Sergeant Barnes said. “Everyone can see that. But I want to watch the damn movie without seeing Clint’s junk flapping all over the place. An’ I’m pretty sure Coulson’s naked, too and that…” he broke off with a shudder.

“How come nobody wants to see me naked?” Director Coulson asked mildly, setting off a ripple of conversation: Agent Barton declaring he wanted to see Director Coulson naked as much as he possibly could, and Ms Hill commenting to Doctor Banner that Director Coulson wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes, and Sir shouting about his wounded innocence until Agent Romanov and Ms Potts applied their silencing technique again. 

“Fuck it!” shouted Agent Barton eventually over the noise. “I’m going back into my room, with my Phil, and he’s _my_ Phil and you can’t have him, and when we come out again, you all had better be gone!”

Nobody moved, of course, and when Agent Barton and Director Coulson did re-emerge from the bedroom several minutes later, fully dressed, they merely shrugged and accepted the offers of beer and chips and popcorn and settled in together on the couch. 

“You are all weirdos,” Agent Barton said. 

“Merry Christmas, Clint,” Agent Romanov said, leaning over and giving Agent Barton a soft kiss on the cheek. 

Agent Barton blushed and curled into Director Coulson. 

“Weirdos,” he said again with a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to PJ and Libby who worked their last minute beta magic on this - poor planning on my part constituted extra work on theirs and I am forever grateful for their help. 
> 
> "You are all weirdos" is from The Muppets, specifically Sam the Eagle. I think Clint and Sam Eagle and Sam Wilson share a deep bond, I really do.


End file.
